Poems by Alan Patrick Traynor

 
 
Poems by Alan Patrick Traynor
 
 
AFTER EDEN
 
From her wicker heart burns
the sweet perfume
 
Tweed and scales
In the dark blue moors
 
A prisoner
hissing like a kite pinned to the ground
 
And what is a heart
but a prisoner of birds, a kite
 
On the perch of my bones blazing
Lambasting
 
The torch of fire
on the soft herringbone clay
 
And she danced with the cobra
because its heart is blue
 
Made of glass
you cannot see
 
Pulsating
are her eyes
 
rolling in the green room
dancing in the mercy of waves
 
The nuclear light, that is her face
The whistling rooftops on the prairie
The modal dance of corn in the field
 
The patina of her skin
A pearl that needs the sea
 
The torch of fire
on her soft lit lips
 
Flying by the blazing
fruit bowl
 
a tiny atom
that
 
needs her
 
 
SEVEN DAYS OF ASHES
 
Day 1
Murder
 
I am an Order
Nothing else
 
The deep
Thin lines
The striped buried face
The uniform of measured bars
Walking
Waiting
 
I am an experiment
The schizophrenic moth
The burrowed raven’s face
The hole that mocks
The floor
 
I am the skeleton mother
A voice that reads the grave
The borrowed sharpened flint
The moving horns
Of day
 
I am a needle
That carries no blood
 
So
Speak the dead
 
The albino crow
Whose feet without shoes
Into teeth of every hole
 
So
Speak the dead
 
And I never made it home!
 
I am an Order
Nothing else
 
And I was married
In the broken glass
Of the smoking sun
The tightened thread
That hatched the Ghetto’s breeze
 
And all I can do is hold onto the floating sun
Because forever sky is drowning
 
And all I can do is peel back the rowing moon
Because forever hands are howling
 
And when it comes
I am blackout
 
A wedding of ashes
That blows high the towel
 
Lanced are the clouds
That hold the face of love
 
And we flew into the earth that way
Down into the core
And we pulled out our thoughts
Through the worm’s forever missing laughter
 
Down into the core
Will you remember
What is half
Like I do
 
When Heaven is late
Horrid are the broken limbs of earth
The bulbs
The ground
Our feet
 
And never before
Has the hand that holds the sun
Behead the core
 
Oh season’s blade
So beats the thousand folds
So brutal
 
Oh wiry stars
Will you lift me up
Into my half
Into the something
Way-out after
 
Seven are the flames
That cut the weeks into your feet
Oh boiling hands
So blazing
 
And born wide open
Was the robin
That was hidden
Beneath the eyelids
Of the moon
 
Into our ashes
Our Apocalypse
That rains
So slowly upwards
 
So born was I
Will I
Burn so softly die
 
And die
 
Onto the bellowed moan
So upward goes the rain
That never
Made it home
 
Oh God
Forgive me
I am dead!
 
In your resting throne
The melting wood
That burns
The knot in snow
 
And die
 
Onto the ground
Onto the broken bones
Onto Love’s lost mote forgiveness
 
Into the fields of confiscation
The horrid hands
The broken glass
The inhumanity of stones our constellations
 
So rakes the mountain of flesh and sky
Upon the abacus that rose like bones
 
We are the beautiful
The horrific beauty
And we are dead
 
We are the hair
That crossed your hands
 
The rain that burnt your eyes
For seven days
 
I am cloth
I am Heaven
I am wire
 
Murder!
There was no second day
 
Auschwitz
 
…Never the last word
 
 

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